


Instinct

by eiseedoesit



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:43:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiseedoesit/pseuds/eiseedoesit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The memories left him empty, starving…</p><p>Predaking tore him again. Megatron begged wordlessly for more, writhing even as he bled. The pain would make him forget. And Megatron, the great lord of the Decepticons, wanted nothing more than to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to: Andromeda Prime, Jeegoo and most of all Kem. Kem who through her diligence melted my cold heart towards Opt/Ratch, and through one very long convo spearheaded what started as a drabble into a full-blown fic 3 What will I ever do without these 3? ^_^

He never expected this. Not for a second in his long, arduous lifecycle did he ever entertain the thought that he, Megatron, Slag-maker, Lord of the Decepticons, would ever carry.

And the thought that the sire would be a creature long believed to be extinct... the notion in itself sounded like a complete lunacy. Such things were born of careless whims of thought, a flash of wild imagination. An image for laughs.

And at times, when the world was still and silent, Megatron would do just that. Laugh.

For that's what should be done, right? For what else could he do? The sparkling within him, already full and prominent as a gentle mound, had come too close to his spark to terminate.

The carrying protocols had corrupted him. They still did, and they would continue to until the day either he or the sparkling expired. His frustrations faded out, replaced by the bits of data that told him of the sparkling he nourished, of the sparkling's movements, wants, and needs. The protocols overrode the codes so deeply ingrained in him. His focus shifted,his memories and desires blurred until they bled together in his mind. It was disorienting, terrifying. The moment he realized his willing submission...that terrible instant where he welcomed the beast's advances struck fear through the core of his choatic spark. Control was always the greatest measure of power for him. But now even that faded. His servos were open, ready to give and receive what the sire of his sparkling demanded on him.

It was humiliating. How could one night, drunken and dark with high grade and loneliness, lead to this unexpected life within? He remembered it more that he dared to admit, knew enough to acknowledge his part in it. The beast had taken him, how many times that night Megatron could not remember.

What he did know was that he never resisted. Not even when Predaking took him so violently he tore and bled. Not even when his valve, thighs, and berth were coated by the Predacon's transfluid. Not even when their sparks met in the burning air, bare, raw, and wrought with anger and fury.

It wasn't the heat of pleasure or even comfort that they shared. It was something else, something dark, sad, and distant. Far from love yet necessary just the same.

Megatron didn't understand it then, why he didn't protest Predaking's advances. Nor did he understand it now.

A deep, impatient growl rumbled from behind him. Hot, wet, breath rushed against his neck, the thrill of it spreading across his back.

The Decepticon warlord remained still as he rested on his side, both arms trying to cover the swell of the sparkling so peacefully sleeping. His heavy frame was slack and motionless even as the body lying beside him stirred. And what a formidable body it was, massive, strong, solid, large enough to encompass his frame. It unnerved him the first time he saw it, towering and looming over him and his mechs. Now he was almost grateful for it. It was a steady source of heat, a shield against the cold that cast a constant shadow to hide in. But such things he could never admit.

His optics opened slightly, still hazed from slumber. The floor of his berthroom was dark, eerie streaks of ghostly light glimmering on the metal. There were stains still there from their last coupling mere hours ago. And Megatron shuddered to realize that it did not repulse him. A gasp left him, shallow and rolling as he felt the predacon pull him closer, sighing at the hot, sticky breath salivating against his neck, leaning into the greedy claws exploring the seams of his carrying frame.

Megatron said nothing. He never did. It was Predaking's duty as sire to the sparkling to supply his lord with enough transfluids to ensure a safe gestation. And the beast was more than eager to fulfill that responsibility.

"My Lord…"

Predaking's digits traced the line of his master's jaw, caressing downwards to the neck cables that pulsed beneath his breath. A thick tongue, wet and hungry, swept along that strong, silver neck, lapping up the coolant that misted between them. Predaking bit down gently. Even then Megatron could feel his own spark-beat emanating, thumping against each bite.

_We are both killers. ___

The fact was always present, yet instead of retreating Megatron opened himself more, shifting to grant Predaking the access he sought. How many sparks were crushed by those claws? How many optics did he see fade as heat fled from the husks of his former enemies?

The predacon's servo swept quickly over his chassis, his spark flaring when for a brief moment, Predaking pressed against the Decepticon sigil.

_And this. ___

Megatron's breath hitched as the massive claw inched down, cupping the swell of his belly

_This newspark will be a killer as well. Fierce. . ___

It was ironic really, how the new life buried within was brimming with violent, battle-yearning coding. Not even sparked and already the sparkling was destined to inflict death.

The warmth of the predacon's servo against his abdominal plates was strangely comforting, yet the longer it lingered the more restless the field around them became, stirring and burning with energy.

Predaking's fingers slid down, slowing brushing against the hot, straining panel.

"Open,"

The command was low, a growl against Megatron's face.

The warlord obeyed, his panel sliding back, his legs spreading was a timid move, one that did not seem to satisfy the predacon.

"Let me assist you," Predaking's deep voice trembled against his neck, "My liege,"

Megatron's intakes drew heavy, hard breaths as the Predacon's digit slowly dipped into his valve. His legs parted further at the touch, though the motion didn't ease the pain.

"You are tight. Hot," The voice whispered above him, "As always, Lord Megatron."

Those digits pressed deeper in, sliding against the thick folds.

The silver mech turned away as Preadking's lip plates came down on his face. Instead, the beast kissed his broad shoulder, nipping and licking along his back. The predacon was patient, incredibly so. And his slow, soft kisses sent uneasy shudders down Megatron's spine. Just as his fingers spread shock and pleasure through his valve, drawing out thick, viscous fluids with each twist and turn.

Megatron's servos dug against the metal floor, his breath hitched and heavy. His optics closed, mouth tight and drawn in as he kept himself composed.

Predaking's digits curled inside him. He gasped, the sound louder than he feared, his voice fading into a wail, then a sigh.

"That's it. Come my Lord. It will ease our joining," Predaking slid his fingers along the folds, digging against the sensitive nerves, "Wet for me."

Megatron's spark twisted, tight and burning from the gentle motions. It was a luxury he was rarely given.

Heavy smoke, suffocating hallways, crooked cells littered with the broken and dying. The strike of the slaver's whip and the stench of exposed innards. The quick flare as blazing sparks feathered into wisps of light, cold and still by the crush of his servos. Those were the gifts of Kaon. And gentleness did not survive there.

How could it be then, that he would receive such gentleness from a creature more savage than anything that vile city could spew out of the pits? And it unnerved Megatron, this biting uncertainty on where this gentleness was born from.

Instinct. He told himself constantly. It was nothing but instinct. Just the creator protocols to protect the carrier and promote the survival of the newspark. Nothing more.

And this willingness, this Primus-damned urge to open himself…

_Instinct. ___

His optics rolled back, vocalizer straining as Predacon's hot mouth grazed along his outstretched neck cables.

J _just instinct. ___

His faceplates flushed, his vents releasing a huff of strangled breath.

"You, my Lord-"

Predaking's voice rumbled all around him. The larger mech leaned down, kissing the side of the silver mech's rugged mouth.

"Are most generous," Predaking's spark was burning, scorching. Megatron could feel the heat of it spreading through the back of his armor.

And he could feel his own life force responding to it, twisting and smoldering, so full and aching he feared it would burst.

He was rolled carefully on his back. The great beast was above him, those large claws spreading his knees apart, slipping andtracing the path of the leaking fluids back to where they seeped from.

His intakes hitched, strangled and uneven as Predaking's breath fell heavily against his face.

It should have repulsed him. A small part of him, tucked deep inside in spark, still was. The rest of him however, only reached out to bring the predacon down against his aching body.

"I will not harm you,"

Megatron laughed, the sound bitter and cold. The beast did not mind, did not know that his words mirrored a promise made and broken by another long ago.

Megatron replied by turning away from Predaking's attempt at a kiss. The predacon settled on kissing along the silver mech's neck cables instead. Megatron responded fervently, shutting his optics as his legs spread further at the predacon's touch.

As the spike slipped slowly inside his entire frame shuddered, fright and excitement coursing through him. He lifted his hips, wrapping his legs around the predacon's waist as much as he could and meet each thrust with a cry of deep pain and raw pleasure.

_Instinct ___

The lord of the Decepticons shook as he focused on the word, blaming it for how he trembled and fell into Predaking's every motion and kiss.

_All instinct. ___

The memory of Optimus...of Orion Pax crept into his consciousness.

Of how careless they both were before. How passionate and thoughtless they were in the blind love they held for each other.

The memories left him empty, starving… 

Predaking tore him again. Megatron begged wordlessly for more, writhing even as he bled. The pain would make him forget. And Megatron, the great lord of the Decepticons, wanted nothing more than to forget.

_Instinct ___

Megatron gasped, cursing and crying as he slammed his body against Predaking, reveling in the raw, blind agony. He felt a gentle claw cradle the swollen belly. Such an odd gesture for a beast so violent and sparkless. Yet he welcomed it just the same.

Protocols. Programing. Carrying cycle. Siring drives.

A brilliant flash of blue filled the darkness.

Let me feel it.

He felt Predaking's mouth along the side of his face, kissing him roughly, possessively. Megatron turned away, riding the sire of his unborn sparkling til all that encompassed him was searing pain and shooting pleasure.

_Let me forget... ___

__________________________________________________________________________ 

"You know how to make up for lost time Optimus." 

The Prime was pulled away from his memories. He looked down at the smaller mech, smiling gently as his sparkmate's servos spread across his chassis. They laid tangled on the ground, the dim lights overhead flickering silently as they touched each other's frames. The distance apart had taken it's toll. And that tension and yearning all but burst as soon as Optimus entered the base once more. And by Primus, of all the welcomes and greetings he received, this was by far the best. 

"We need to rest," Optimus said, "Especially you." 

He took his mate's hand and kissed it softly, the warm sensation filtering through both of them. He felt a tug on their bond, a wave of desire and affection. 

"I need more of you." 

Skilled fingers touched his spike. He moaned into a kiss as his mate stirred him in every sense, his spark beating furiously at the careful, deliberate caress. 

"Ratchet…" 

"Will you deny me now?" 

The Prime glanced as his servo brushed over the medic's abdominal plating. The swell was there, small but undeniable. His spark soared as Ratchet laughed. 

"The sparkling will be safe." 

Ratchet leaned back, allowing his legs to fall apart, the scent of his heat and need drawing Optimus in. 

"You trust me on that?" Ratchet said, smiling as Optimus' massive frame inched closer to him. 

"On everything," 

Optimus kissed him, the motions slow and sweet. The memories of Megatron fled from him, the coldness of it vanishing from the heat of the mate in his arms. 


	2. Chapter 2

Beta:Jeego

A/N: Yes, this update is a miracle by Eisee standards. I updated in less than a year. Yay!

The rain was hard, brutal in the way it loosened the earth. Although his armor wasn’t affected, Ratchet could imagine what it would feel like against more sensitive skin. The painful cleansing would send any human running for shelter. But he was stronger than their kind, and the coldness of the air did little to bother him.

His thoughts were momentarily interrupted as Bumblebee sent him another request confirming his location. It was the scout’s fourth message of the hour. Ratchet replied promptly, thanking the young mech for allowing him some privacy. It wasn’t easy for Bumblebee to disobey the Prime’s orders, but the medic had all but begged. And a pleading carrier apparently, was something the scout could not refuse.

Of course Optimus would find out. He always had a way of knowing, even on some basic instinct, when his commands were swayed. But Ratchet could handle that when it came.

_Besides…_

The medic blinked as the branches above him shook, the heavy drops slipping off the leaves.

_This is worth it_

A moment of Optimus’ anger in exchange for a day without being constantly monitored, he could accept that.

The woods were calm, peaceful. Until recently, the beauty of this planet was rather lost to him. There was little time to appreciate it when most of his days were spent in the base, tending to their wounded, securing their location, filing his processor with every problem real and imaged. He didn’t know exactly what drove him to seek out some freedom from the base. Perhaps the enclosure finally took its toll. Perhaps it was the way the others lorded over his condition. Or perhaps it was the sparkling itself that caused this change.

Whatever reason for it, Ratchet was grateful for the change.

A soft wave rippled along the surface of his spark.

He hushed it, allowing himself to show sentiment by resting his servos on his abdominal plates. The sparkling pulled back, easing into slumber. It was still surreal to him, to feel the unborn spark respond to his emotions. Even the sound of his voice seemed to affect it, though it made him laugh softly to think the sparkling seemed to argue with him at times.

But the sound of Optimus’ voice calmed it quicker than anything else. The nights without the Prime could be torturous, both from his own agonizing worry and the sparkling’s insistence that its sire be present for both of them to sleep.

Although the little thing was not even fully developed yet to kick or roll within him, the spark readings were enough to keep him up, to remind him that there was life there. The sensations delighted and frightened him all at once.

“Primus,”

He winced as a sudden knot twisted somewhere inside. His vision faded, the static snapping through his processors. The medic slid to the ground, the soft earth rolling away as the mud smeared across his heated armor.

He steadied his intakes, evening each breath. He kept his servos over his middle, refusing to let go even then. He allowed the moment of darkness to pass until the greens and greys of the wood drifted back into his vision and the world shifted back into place.

“This sparkling will be the death of me.”

And the medic knew that the chances of his death weren’t far from reality. Carrying a sparkling to term taxed even the strongest bodies. He’d seen warriors die from the exhaustion alone, the energon shortage brought about by the war ended entire generations before they were even born. The lack of sires supplying their nanites produced a wide range of gestational issues, physical defects, often alongside spark and/or processor instability. Even carriers who were fortunate enough to have medics attending to them usually had a collection of miscarriages before a successful birth, only to see that precious newspark die from the horrors of war and famine.

_I will keep you anyway._

Ratchet rose to his peds.

_I did not want you. I couldn’t afford to. Not with the war._

He wiped the mud from his frame, the rain falling through his fingers as he brushed against the Autobot emblem. He’d worn the symbol for so long he could barely remember a time when it wasn’t part of him. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to recall a life before then.

If there was ever peace in his life he’d found it in the war, from the constant presence of his Prime. His mate. Ages ago, at the start of the war, the idea that he would be bonded to a Prime was too surreal to even consider. Now it wasn’t just his reality. It was everything. It changed everything.

_There was no place for that kind of hope in the midst of war. But now that you are here, little one, I will not be without you again._

He wondered then, what the sparkling would look like. Would it be more like Optimus after he received the Matrix? Or will it take after his mate’s original form of Orion Pax? Or perhaps, the thought with a laugh, maybe the child would be unfortunate enough to take after himself. He prayed to iit would be more like Optimus. Primus knows the universe needed more souls like Optimus, like Orion.

The simple data clerk from Iacon was admirable, intelligent, and devoted to the cause he so fervently defended. It was easy to befriend him, to trust and believe in him. There were greater mechs to choose as a leader, stronger and more powerful ones with vast resources and political standing. But Orion was beyond all that. He was genuine, ready to sacrifice himself. And it was because of that sacrifice that Optimus had emerged...

From then on, that admiration lead to friendship and from that even deeper things. Things that neither of them expected but found together. What their friendship turned into, he spent years trying to define. He wasn’t sure what it was, feared it even, when he realized how the thought of losing Optimus even while pursuing their cause made his spark tighten with grief.

It was selfish and foolish to entertain the Prime's quiet advances. And it was the only time Ratchet gladly choose to be a fool. It wasn’t easy for him to ignore what should have been obvious, that it would cause so many unneeded complications should they pursue a more intimate relationship.

Nor was it easy for Optimus to express his attraction. It must have taken so much for him to do so. It had been a lifetime since Optimus had loved another. The medic knew of Megatronus, how their affair blossomed and burned into the horrors of rebellion and war. That love was intense, scarring, if the pain he felt in Optimus’ spark was any indicator. The pain became his as well, whenever his spark merged with the Prime’s. Over time it healed, easing the heavy ache until the gladiator disappeared.

Or so Optimus claimed.

Ratchet’s optics narrowed, his field weakening. He could trust Optimus with the faction, with his life, anything. He could truly believe that Optimus would never lie. But still, the doubts were there, looming over them as dark as the past.

There was always a small part of Optimus’ spark, deeply tucked away, that the Prime kept back. Ratchet could never reach it. It was the only thing Optimus kept back, the only thing he kept to himself since they bonded.

It pained him to be denied it. If he gave Optimus his entire spark, could the Prime not do the same? What could be contained in that portion of his spark, that he would keep his own mate from it?

The medic accepted the Prime had secrets. Or at least he did before. But as the sparkling grew Ratchet found himself wanting all of it. Even that tiny speck that Optimus denied him.

He knew there was a good reason for keeping that part of his soul buried. And it burned him to know what it was. He wanted to ask. But the question never seemed to leave his lips, dreading the answers and fearing he might have intruded too far.

“We are mates. Yet you are still a mystery to me.”

Ratchet practiced how he would start the conversation leading up to the question countless times. And likewise, the countless opportunities to ask slipped by.

“I know what makes you move. What makes you sad, angry, confused, hurt...I understand it.” Ratchet’s optics blinked as the rain eased, falling gently on his rounded frame, “But sometimes...I can’t. Is it Primus speaking to you? Or is it the part of your spark you never want me to see?”

_Or is it something else entirely? Someone else--_

Ratchet tried to stop the thoughts before they escalated. They kept racing, finally finding their voice.

“I’ve given you everything. Every part of me. Why do you hold something back? What can’t I know?”

The worst regrets Optimus had, his deepest fears and pain were all known to Ratchet when they bonded. When he accepted Optimus as his mate he also had to unravel Megatronus in that spark. The silver mech was everywhere, buried deep, tendril into the core of Optimus’ soul.

Ratchet was terrified he could never undo him. Never replace him.

Perhaps he still had a reason to fear--

_No._

Ratchet shook his helm, his servo rubbing his peaceful belly.

_Optimus is mine. Megatronus is dead. I am the living mech. The only mech who dwells in his spark, and he in mine. I carry the greatest proof of that…_

There was a heavy footstep disturbing the ground behind him. The medic turned, his optics brightening at the familiar red and blue.

The Prime reached for him. Before Ratchet could explain his mate embraced him, kissing his wet helm, touching him in places they both knew would make him moan.

“I had to leave for a while Optimus.” Ratchet said, smiling when Optimus looked down at him, “I found something interesting this morning during my scan. I had to clear my thoughts first before telling you.”

There was no anger in those blue optics. Concern and love yes, but anger was far from them.

Ratchet wondered if he should ask at that moment. Demand the answers. Ask for all of Optimus’ spark.

“I was fearful of your safety.” Optimus said, “You should not be venturing out alone.”

“I’m not alone. Bumblebee is close by.”

“Not close enough.”

Ratchet’s servos rested on his mate’s chassis, over his heavily beating spark. His mouth plates were open, as if waiting for the words he rehearsed to spill out themselves.

But Optimus leaned down and kissed him. The thoughts fled the medic as those strong arms gathered him, pressing him tight against his sparkmate’s body.

Their friendship made them strong.

He had that assurance.

He had Optimus’ spark.

He had their sparkling…

“It’s a femme,”

Optimus stopped kissing him long enough for Ratchet to see the shock poured all over his face. His eyes were brilliant, easily read. Those optics spoke of surprise and fear. But for a few moments Ratchet also recognized the look of anguish, the spark of terribly concealed pain.

“We have a daughter Optimus” Ratchet said again, “Your firstborn is a daughter.”

A rushed smile spread across the Prime’s face as he buried his face onto the medic’s neck, kissing it until he found those lips again.

Ratchet choose to ignore how his mate’s smile was laced with guilt, hesitance. Instead he focused on the kisses that were quickly getting stronger. Eager servos dragged along his hips and thighs, the Prime gently guiding him down onto the soft earth.

“I love you.”

The Prime’s words were enough. For now.

“Both of you,” Ratchet replied, kissing his mate deeply, moaning as he felt the Prime’s servo brush against his belly, “I love both of you.”

Ratchet opened himself to every touch, banishing his doubts away for now. He could turn away from that hidden portion of Optimus’ spark. He could pretend it didn’t matter to him. He choose to be a fool before. He would gladly be a fool again.


End file.
